The next morning was overcast and the cobblestone streets glistened with rain. Out on the fairgrounds masses of bright yellow straw had been scattered over the paths to stabilize the sinkholes of mud. Under the gold pavilion, fine wood shavings and black grit filled the salt rings of the fencing circles.
The footing was still bad. More than once Kiram slipped as the soil beneath him slid away. Fortunately his opponents had no better luck than he did.
But neither the poor weather nor the filthy streets seemed to dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. The stands were brimming with onlookers. Shouts and laughter as well as jeers spilled out in a constant cacophony. There were so many bodies and faces that Kiram could almost lose sight of Rafie and Alizadeh. But the glints of golden hair and dark skin always caught his eye. Anytime he looked, they were watching him.
He’d seen almost nothing of Javier this morning. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words at breakfast and once they reached the city stables Javier had left him to ride with Elezar.
Kiram stole another quick glance to where Javier stood in the stands. Elezar, Morisio and Atreau lounged next to him. Elezar was repeating some joke, Kiram could tell just from his stance and gestures. Javier smiled but looked tired. He glanced to Kiram and their eyes met.
Kiram felt a breathless flutter in his chest and an ache deep in his stomach. Javier blinked and then looked away. He said something offhandedly and the Hellions gathered around him laughed. For a terrifying instant the fear that Javier and the other Hellions were laughing at him seized Kiram. He didn’t know why he thought it, except that Javier had turned away from him so coldly, as if he could hardly stand to look at him.
Kiram wiped a thick mass of mud from his boot. His left forearm hurt badly. The pain had made his motions clumsy during his last fight. He’d won but it hadn’t been pretty. Beneath his leather gauntlet, he could feel the wet heat of blood welling up from where his stitches had torn open.
The Hellions were still laughing and Kiram didn’t look their way.
He wished that he knew Javier well enough to be sure that he wouldn’t brag about his conquest. When the two of them were alone he did feel that he understood Javier well. An easy honesty existed between them. But Javier was different when he was with the Hellions—shocking and almost cruel, and they loved those qualities in him. Kiram wished that he could somehow forget this realization the moment that he’d had it. But it was so obvious, watching Javier smirk at Elezar and roll a coin over his knuckles. With the Hellions Javier completely disresembled the man who had pulled Kiram into his arms and held him desperately the night before.
A new opponent entered Kiram’s circle, his fourth today. The Yillar student looked clean assured and well rested and Kiram fought hard because it would have been too humiliating to simply drop his blade and walk away, but he knew he wouldn’t win.
When the judge finally raised the Yillar banner that signaled his defeat, Kiram pulled himself up from the mud and staggered back to the stands where the other filthy, beaten students sat. He collapsed down beside Nestor who, despite being defeated in his first round, appeared to be in good spirits. An open sketchbook lay across his lap.
“Don’t look so glum, Kiram,” Nestor said. “You did your best. Nobody expected you to last one round much less four. You’ve really improved in the last few months, you know.”
Kiram nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could speak without sobbing. Beneath the leather gauntlet, his stitches had burst, and his arm hurt so badly, worse than anything he’d ever felt in his life. How did professional soldiers do this day in and day out? How did they go to war or fight blood duels? How did they endure so much pain?
Red rivulets coursed down Kiram’s fingers. Nestor squinted at him. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Me either.” Nestor stared out at the crowd in the stands opposite them. “I hardly slept at all. I kept thinking about Riossa and then about you having to leave the academy. I spent the whole night just tossing and turning between good and bad.”
“Yes, me as well.” Kiram was glad to have Nestor beside him right now. “I thought maybe I’d run away and hide in Zancoda.”
Nestor cocked his head, considering this latest plan. “Would you still come to classes?”
“I don’t see how I could,” Kiram replied.
“Maybe I could sneak notes down to you and take your papers back up to the academy,” Nestor suggested, a playful expression on his broad, honest face. “Or maybe we could disguise you somehow and enroll you as a foreign prince. We could say you were from the kingdom of Yuan. You’d have to wear a live bird on your head, or something, but it would be a small price to pay.”
Kiram laughed out loud at this.
Nestor smiled. “For what it’s worth, my mother’s agreed to speak with your uncle if you think that will help. I told her that you’re the reason that my math scores have been looking so good this year. And Prince Sevanyo invited you into his box. That has to count for something, don’t you think?”
“With my uncle?” Kiram asked. He tried very tentatively to flex his left hand into a fist. A deep, ragged ache shot through his forearm.
“Seriously, Kiram, are you all right? You just went white. Which for you is pretty shocking looking.”
“My cut broke open again.”
“Should you take the gauntlet off?” Nestor leaned closer, peering at the leather laces. “It looks like the blood has soaked into the laces and swollen the knots tight. We’ll have to cut it apart, but I’ve got my penknife.”
“Just leave it for now,” Kiram said. He leaned back, resting his left arm across his stomach. His muscles felt stringy and limp. The sweat clinging to his skin began to turn cold and Kiram shivered as a breeze washed over him. “I don’t know what to do about my uncle.”
“Neither do I.” Nestor absently resumed his sketching. “But, you know, we can’t give up.”
Kiram spied Rafie working his way down to the second level of the stands with Alizadeh only a few steps behind him. No doubt they had decided to collect him immediately after the third year duels ended. They seemed to think that they had won the whole argument about him leaving already. And there Javier was, acting as if Kiram had already left when they still had a week to fight for him to stay. His lackluster capitulation suddenly infuriated Kiram and the ensuing rush of anger was a relief from his earlier feeling of rejection.
He’d been so distressed and confused today that he’d lost sight of what it was that he needed to fight for. Yes, he wanted to stay with Javier but there was also his friendship with Nestor and his goal of being the first Haldiim to graduate from Sagrada Academy. He wanted to honor Yassin Lif-Harun, who had been killed before he fully proved himself. And he had sworn to help Scholar Donamillo to save Fedeles—a matter of life and death.
This wasn’t just Javier’s fight. If he wanted to have one night and then give up he could, but Kiram wouldn’t.
He wondered if all endurance was this simple. Whether it was physical pain or complex calculations, a person had to push through it if they wanted to win. Winning just had to matter more than exhaustion or hurt. Kiram thought of how Fedeles kept fighting even though a curse tortured him relentlessly. Compared to that, a disapproving uncle seemed manageable.
Kiram searched the stands for Fedeles and found him in the Quemanor family box along with his father, sister and grandmother. He returned Kiram’s gaze as if he’d been waiting for Kiram to look at him all day. He grinned and waved wildly. Kiram smiled back at him and gave a brief salute with his right hand.
By the time the third-year students entered the dueling ground, the sun had broken through the clouds and humid warmth filled the gold pavilion.
“We’ll see some real fighting now,” Nestor commented.
Despite Kiram’s disgusted frustration, he couldn’t help but look up when Javier’s name was called. He watched as Holy Father Habalan used a small dagger to open a shallow cut in Javier’s wrist and then administered several drops of a black fluid to the wound. Javier grimaced as the holy father bound his wrist and then laced his gauntlet over the wound.
Kiram stole a quick glance to Rafie and Alizadeh, to see what they made of the holy father’s ministrations, and found Rafie openly scowling at the sight, disgust plain on his face while Alizadeh shook his head sadly. Good. Let them see what Javier endured and then still refuse to help or even allow Kiram to try.
Javier strode across the filthy arena and took his circle. Despite the poison, he held the ring five rounds without seeming to even break a sweat. Only after the fighting was done, as he and the other third-year champions left the arena, did Javier offer Kiram a warm, longing smile that sent a rush of desire through him. Then Javier bowed his head and went to the benches with Elezar.
Seconds later Rafie and Alizadeh swooped down on Kiram, intent on escorting him throughout the rest of the day. Kiram introduced them to Nestor, who joined them out on the fairgrounds. Shortly after that Riossa and her friends flounced around them in a giggling cluster of silk and ribbons. Nestor’s imposing mother, Lady Grunito, and her five attendants manifested moments later. Kiram began to feel like he was walking in a parade. He smiled, because he could see from Rafie’s set expression that he had not planned to spend the afternoon in this manner, but had no way of politely extricating himself without leaving Kiram.
Lady Grunito stood as tall as Alizadeh and had a large, angular body which neither her flowing silk skirt nor her velvet coat could soften. Next to her, Rafie looked even more boyish than usual. His delicate features and slender body were only emphasized further by his white hair and muted, Cadeleonian clothes.
“My son Nestor speaks quite highly of your nephew Kiram.” Lady Grunito gazed down at Rafie like a hawk contemplating a rabbit.
“I’m glad to hear that Kiram has made a good impression, but I think he might be a little too young to be attending the Sagrada Academy. He’s been more sheltered than most boys his age, I think.”
“More sheltering is rarely an antidote for too much in the first place.” Lady Grunito gave Kiram a piercing glance and then cocked her head just slightly at Rafie. “And to be honest, your nephew seemed to do quite well for himself out in the arena today. He certainly held his own with the other students.”
“He stayed on the grounds longer than me,” Nestor admitted easily, though he stole an uncertain glance at Riossa. She just smiled at him and then stepped a little closer to him, under the pretense of showing him the drawings in her small sketchbook.
While Lady Grunito continued to lecture Rafie on the value of a Sagrada Academy education, Nestor and Riossa walked close together, discussing inks and brushes and seeming oblivious to everyone else.
Alizadeh complimented Riossa’s friends on the perfumes and flowers that they bought from vendors. The girls blushed and smiled nervously; obviously unsure of how to behave toward a Haldiim they fell back on emulating Lady Grunito’s polite demeanor.
For his part, Alizadeh never stood too near any of the girls, nor did he speak with any of them too long. Often he simply walked quietly beside Kiram, watching the sky.
“Is something wrong?” Kiram spoke in Haldiim but still kept his question to a whisper.
“No.” Alizadeh’s gaze moved through the crowd of fairgoers and brightly-dressed vendors. “It is all very normal, as if the shadow had never fallen here at all. He knows we’re looking for it. I wonder how he hides it so well and where?”
Kiram couldn’t even begin to guess the answer to Alizadeh’s question and was distracted from thinking about the matter by the breathless whisper of one of Riossa’s friends.
“Look, it’s the Duke of Rauma.” The thin girl pointed with a quick flick of her lace fan.
Javier strode through the crowd with Elezar and Morisio. Atreau followed a little behind them, a young woman with long, loose hair and a low cut dress clinging to his arm.
“He looks so brooding,” another of Riossa’s friends murmured. “I’d be terrified to be introduced to him, much less make conversation.”
Kiram thought Javier looked bored and tired.
“They say he glows in the darkness with the light of the white hell,” the girl added.
“He doesn’t glow or breathe fire or eat people’s souls or anything else you’ve heard.” Kiram watched as Javier pushed Elezar off him. The muerate poison was still hurting him; Kiram could tell from the stiff way he moved his right arm. Javier paused for a moment and turned as if he could feel Kiram’s attention.
At the same moment Kiram became acutely aware of both Alizadeh and the surrounding clot of girls observing his study of Javier.
“He’s just a man,” Kiram said as offhandedly as he could. “Some nights he even snores.”
The girls laughed in an excited and scandalized manner.
When Kiram glanced back through the crowd, Javier had slipped out of sight. Kiram tried not to feel disappointed that Javier had not come to join them.
It wasn’t long before Rafie made his apologies to their companions and led both Alizadeh and Kiram away, explaining that he needed to see to Kiram’s injured arm. Kiram hadn’t thought Rafie had even noticed but he’d obviously been wrong.
In their small, warm room at the Laughing Dog, Rafie carefully cut away the leather laces and then peeled the blood-caked gauntlet off of Kiram’s left forearm. Kiram flinched when he saw the jagged red wound, with its tattered black stitches jutting pointlessly up from his flesh. The skin was swollen and feverish red. Mottled green and black bruises discolored the rest of Kiram’s forearm.
“There’s no point in trying to sew it back up now,” Rafie said. He held Kiram’s arm firmly as he poured a stinging alcohol over the open wound. “You should have stopped fighting the moment you felt the stitches pull.”
Kiram gritted his teeth as the alcohol burned deep into his raw wound.
“I didn’t notice when it happened.”
“Anyone looking at you could have told that something had happened. You turned white as snow,” Rafie replied. “You should have stopped.”
“At least he beat four of those Cadeleonian boys,” Alizadeh said. “Who knew he was such a fighter?”
Rafie dried and bandaged Kiram’s arm then asked, “Will you keep it in a sling if I make one for you?”
“For today,” Kiram agreed.
Rafie tied a sling and fitted it around Kiram’s arm and neck. His touch was sure and quick. After he was done, and he had thrown out the bloody gauntlet, Rafie sat next to Alizadeh on the floor and accepted a cup of peppery, spiced tea.
Kiram lay on their bed, tired but not willing to sleep so early in the day. He listened as Rafie and Alizadeh discussed their plans for the next year. Rafie needed meet with one of his colleagues who had just returned from Yuan with new medicinal herbs. Alizadeh complained about the tedium of the city, but in a teasing manner that made Kiram think that he was perfectly content to stay in Anacleto for a time.
Kiram’s own thoughts drifted in memories of his mother’s garden and his father’s workshop. He closed his eyes. The scent of Alizadeh’s tea roused the half-forgotten longing for cardamom cakes, served at the Autumn Dances. He imagined that Musni was attending one of the dances right now, probably with his new wife.
Kiram wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but it was nearly twilight when his uncle Rafie woke him and took him to the city stables to again check in with Master Ignacio. Nestor greeted Kiram warmly, but didn’t miss the fact that his uncle stood waiting for him at the gates of the stable.
“He’s not taking any chances, is he?” Nestor asked.
“Rafie never makes the same mistake twice.”
Nestor scowled. “You think my mom helped any?”
“I don’t know. She certainly gave Rafie a long enough lecture on the importance of education.”
Nester smiled and nodded as if he had much experience with this. “Your uncle may come around. We’ve got until Sacreday.”
Before Kiram could say anything more, Master Ignacio called them to order and took a quick roll. He reminded them of the eighth bell curfew. Then he announced who would be riding in tomorrow’s races. Kiram was neither disappointed nor surprised that he was not among those chosen. Javier on the other hand would be expected to compete in two of the three events, as were the Helio twins.
Kiram tried to catch Javier’s attention several times but Javier avoided him, and at last Kiram gave up. He left with Rafie without even saying a word to Javier.
They didn’t stay the night at the Laughing Dog, as Kiram had expected, but instead crossed the empty fairgrounds to the Irabiim camp. Nakiesh and Liahn greeted Kiram as if he were a longtime friend and wrapped him in a deerskin cloak while he sat by their fire and waited for his supper. At least thirty crows perched around him. The dusty hound that he’d seen at the Laughing Dog wandered over and flopped down next to the fire. Kiram patted the animal and it licked his hand briefly, before settling down to sleep.
A few Irabiim girls with their black-kohled eyes watched Kiram curiously from the fires they attended. And several of the young men found reasons to walk near him and ask if he would be traveling with them, as his uncle and Alizadeh often did.
“I don’t think so,” Kiram replied. “I’m enrolled at the Sagrada Academy and I’m planning on staying there.”
His response made Rafie frown at him.
Alizadeh laughed. “He’s as stubborn as you.”
Liahn gave Kiram a hot disk of adhil bread and a hollowed gourd full of fragrant stew. When he thanked her, she simply inclined her head and then returned to Nakiesh’s side with her own meal.
Rafie sat down beside Kiram with his own gourd full of stew. Alizadeh joined them a few moments later. He tossed a few pieces of his bread to a crow and Nakiesh jokingly warned him that he was going to win himself another lover.
“Well, you know, I can’t help but be attracted to the difficult types,” Alizadeh replied. Rafie just rolled his eyes. Alizadeh glanced to Kiram and then frowned slightly. “Don’t look so sad, Kiram. Nakiesh’s cooking isn’t as bad as it looks.”
As a reply Nakiesh sent small clump of adhil bread sailing into the back of Alizadeh’s head.
“The food is wonderful,” Kiram said quickly. “I’ve been missing this kind of meal for months. It’s nothing like that.”
“He’s moping because his duke has forgotten about him. He didn’t even look at Kiram when they were at the stables this evening.” Rafie folded his bread and used it to scoop his stew from the gourd. “It’s just as well, Kiri. At least this way it won’t be so hard for you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” Kiram replied.
Rafie’s placid expression hardened. “I know you’re young and full of romantic notions, but it is dangerous and foolish to link your fate to that of a Cadeleonian. They aren’t like us. They can’t free themselves from the bigotry they’re brought up in.” Rafie sighed heavily before going on. “He may say he’s different. He may want to be different. He may even go so far as to become your lover. But he’ll always feel guilty and dirty. He’ll be ashamed to be seen with you and try and blame you for his own desires. He’ll claim you seduced him or that you are somehow irresistible because you’re Haldiim. If the two of you are discovered together, he’ll press charges against you to save himself. That’s how Cadeleonian men are.”
Kiram just stared at Rafie, wondering if all of this had happened to someone he knew.
“A Cadeleonian man can’t just accept love and be happy,” Rafie said sadly.
“Well, your Cadeleonian man couldn’t, but not everyone is Rubio,” Alizadeh said. Then, to Kiram, “You uncle had a sweetheart before me, you know.”
Kiram hadn’t known and he found it a little disquieting to consider. Rafie had always been with Alizadeh for as long as Kiram could remember. They were like twin stars fixed, side by side. He couldn’t imagine either of them ever being in love with someone else.
“I’m not just talking about Rubio,” Rafie objected. “It’s the way all Cadeleonians are brought up.”
“Not all of them are brought up the same way, any more than all Haldiim are,” Alizadeh replied. “But I grant you that any relationship between a Haldiim and a Cadeleonian is bound to be hard. Between two men, it’s nearly impossible unless the Cadeleonian converts, and that happens rarely. For a nobleman, it would mean losing his name and abdicating his title. It’s never happened as far as I know.”
Kiram felt a deep pain in his chest, as some half-formed wish ripped apart in the face of Alizadeh’s pragmatism. But Kiram refused to acknowledge how much the realization hurt him. He had a higher goal than romance.
“I understand what the two of you are saying but none of that matters. I don’t want to stay at the academy just to be near Javier.” Kiram wasn’t sure that he was telling the truth but it was what he needed to believe at the moment. “I want to stay because of Nestor and for Fedeles and because I want these Cadeleonian noblemen to see that a Haldiim is just as strong and smart as they are.”
He didn’t bother to list breaking the curse among his reasons, as he already knew none of the Bahiim present seemed to think it was a problem worth solving.
Rafie said, “You’ll have plenty of other opportunities to prove yourself in Anacleto.”
“I’m going to stay here,” Kiram stated.
“How?” Rafie demanded.
Kiram started to answer and then scowled up at Rafie.
“I’m not going to tell you.” Kiram was a little insulted that Rafie would expect him to give away his plans. He was also irked that he’d almost responded. “You’ll just have to find out along with everyone else.”
Rafie looked deeply annoyed but Alizadeh laughed out loud, earning himself a hard glare from Rafie.
“It’s not my fault that he’s so much like you, now is it?” Alizadeh addressed his attention to his dinner, murmuring, “Ah, the irony.”
Rafie just shook his head.
After they had eaten, Nakiesh and Liahn offered them the shelter of their wagon for the night. The space was cramped and smelled of sweat and rich spices. Kiram wasn’t sure if it was a pleasant perfume or not, but the wagon was warm and his family was close. Despite the strangeness of the deerskin bedding and the soft sounds of birds’ wings all around him, he slept soundly.